


Seminar

by surreallis



Category: House MD
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-05
Updated: 2010-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-07 01:18:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surreallis/pseuds/surreallis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House/Cam. The theater is dark, and House is always dangerous. Porn battle fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seminar

She knows _what_ she's doing, the risk, the fallout if it goes all pear-shaped. What she's less clear about is the _why_. Attraction and _feelings_, yeah, yeah... But surrendering to House is the quickest way to get screwed, and not just literally.

House's hands slide up under her skirt, and she shifts on his lap, her bare knees scraping against the rough canvass of the seat cover. It's so dark in the theater that she can barely see his face six inches in front of her. There's a tiny screen way down on the stage where a researcher is projecting slides and talking in a monotone that reminds her of a college biology class.

House's thumb runs across the very top of her inner thigh, and then slips under the cotton of her panties. She sucks in her breath as he goes right for her clit. It's... startling.

He eases his hips forward, carrying her with him, and she feels him relax back. They're in the last row, right corner, and she's pretty sure all the rest of the seminar goers that are clustered down toward the stage cannot see them. Even if they looked.

Still...

He moves slowly, with a languorous and silent pace that works better than she ever thought. His thumb presses in, moves only minimally, and the contact is direct and persistent. The pleasure of it is like a heavy heat that rolls out from between her legs to her whole body.

She moans. Quietly, but unconsciously.

He slides one hand up and cups the back of her neck, pulling her forward. She feels his mouth brush hers and then drag over her cheek to her ear. "Shhhhhh," he whispers, so very quietly. She catches her bottom lip with her teeth.

Behind her the speaker drones on without hesitation.

He smoothes a thumb over her lips and then his mouth covers hers. He had a scotch in the bar before they made their way into the theater, and she can taste the alcohol in his mouth. He holds her head and kisses her slowly, never pulling completely away from her, minimizing the sound.

She slides one hand down over the fly of his jeans, and his legs widen underneath her. She presses the heel of her hand in and strokes up and his neck arches back away from her as their mouths separate, and she hears him exhale in a long, slow, quiet breath. She tries to work his belt silently.

"I've decided you get to come to every seminar with me from now on," he says in a quiet rumble.

"You started it," she points out. "I just lost a bet."

"You lost a bet and you get _this_?" he asks incredulously, and she imagines that mocking expression on his face.

"You need to stop talking now," she whispers. His belt comes free in her fingers, and then his zipper, and then she slides one hand down inside against the warm, hard, cotton-covered length of him.

"Why now?" he asks, ignoring her command.

And she could say something about how she and Chase don't like to be home together anymore, or how she's realized things lately, about her life and his and the weird way they can never seem to give each other up. But she knows him, and she knows how to play this game better than he thinks she does. So she says, "House, really. You need to shut up now." And she slides her tongue into his mouth, and he makes a sound that she takes for acquiescence, although maybe it's just because she has his bare cock in her hands now.

He guides her with his hands under her skirt, along her bare hips, fingers shoving the crotch of her underwear aside as she slides down onto him. His breath hitches and seems to catch in the darkness, and she has to bite her lip again as the fullness forces a moan up into her throat.

Someone from the audience below them is asking a question, and the strange mix of voices is both off-putting and sort of thrilling at the same time.

She moves, and House clamps down on her hips, trying to control her pace. The chair squeaks just a bit when they move too much. She rocks slowly on him, and that seems to keep things silent. It does good things to her body too, and it's the fullness, the contact, the slow movement that takes her breath away. She hears the click of saliva in House's throat, and she tries to see his face in the darkness. She can only see the wet glint of one eye, the pale highlight of one cheekbone. She leans down to kiss him again, and he pulls at her hips when she stops moving.

"Don't stop," he grumbles.

She resumes, and he grabs her head, then his mouth comes in hot and wet against her throat. It feels amazing. He's gentle, in a way that surprises her. She hadn't thought he would be for some reason. He licks and sucks at her skin, lightly, and his teeth scrape against her pulse, and when she makes a soft sound deep in her throat and it threatens to rise up into her mouth, he slides a hand over her lips and presses. It helps, and she swallows the moan, pressing her mouth against his fingers. She moves a little faster though, wincing at the squeak, trying to localize the movement to her hips, and she can feel that tension building low in her belly.

His breathing is harder now. He's fighting it, trying to stay silent, but it's stuttering out of him and sliding, hotly, against her neck, her shoulder, her cheek, her mouth. She lays loose fingers against his lips as a reminder, and his breath tickles against her palm. His hands slide back under her skirt and clamp tightly onto her hips, and help her move. She hears him swallow and his breathing is rough, and she can tell he's close, so she leans forward a bit, and he's moving with her, pushing up, as much as his leg will allow. And she's pretty sure it still hurts him, but he doesn't seem to care.

Neither does she, because he slides one hand between her legs and presses and that's all it takes. She comes, and she almost can't stop the moan, so she presses her mouth to his shoulder and maybe she bites him a little bit, she isn't sure, but she tastes the cotton of his T-shirt and feels the hard, flexing muscle underneath. His hands tighten almost painfully on her, and he stiffens underneath her, and she listens to his breath burst out of him, once and then again and again, and then he's turning his head into her neck, burying his mouth there, trying to muffle it.

Below them the seminar continues uninterrupted.

She shifts uneasily in his lap, feeling a little overwhelmed and expectant. And a little like a hot mess.

"If that's what happens when you lose bets, we need to play poker more often," he rumbles.

She rolls her eyes and climbs off him and he winces as she jars his leg. "I'm going back to my room," she says, smoothing out her skirt. "Before we're kicked out of here and Cuddy fires us both." It's a lie. Cuddy won't fire House.

"Good," he says, shifting on the chair to get his jeans buttoned again. "I'll go buy some playing cards and meet you there."

"House," she says, stopping in her tracks to glare at him.

"What?" he says, in faux innocence. "You prefer dice?"

She turns and walks away, but even then she knows he sees her weakness.


End file.
